"Gaaaaaah!"
A scream that seemed to tear through the very fabric of the morning silence erupted from a small, dilapidated shack.
"Haa! Haa! Haa!"
Jin So-Han shot up from the bed, his chest heaving violently. Cold sweat drenched his back, and his eyes darted around the room like a cornered tiger.
'Alive?'
He touched his chest.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The heart was beating. It was fast, weak, and pathetic, but it was beating.
'I… I survived?'
The Battle of Mount Kunlun. The Ten Demon Lords. The technique that split the sky and shattered his own dantian. He had entered the Death Trance as a last resort, expecting to fade into the void.
But he was here. He was breathing.
"Kuhahaha! Hahahaha! Those demonic bastards! You couldn't kill me! I am Jin So-Han! I am the Sword God!"
He threw his blankets aside and tried to leap out of bed with the grace of a celestial dragon ascending to the heavens.
Flop.
"...Ack?"
Instead of soaring, his legs tangled in the sheets, and he face-planted onto the wooden floor with the grace of a wet noodle.
Thud!
"Kuuuugh..."
Jin So-Han lay on the floor, his face pressed against the cold wood.
Something was wrong.
It wasn't just the fall. The impact hurt. It actually hurt.
'My body...'
He slowly pushed himself up. His arms trembled. They were thin. Pale. There were no calluses on the palms, no scars on the forearms.
He looked down at his stomach.
'...Pudding?'
He poked it. It jiggled.
"This... this squishy disgrace... is me?"
Jin So-Han's eyes went wide in horror. Where were the abs capable of blocking arrows? Where was the skin even harder than boiled leather?
He quickly closed his eyes and looked inward. He searched for his dantian, the ocean of qi that had once rivaled the vastness of the sea.
'...'
There is a puddle.
No, not even a puddle. It was a drop of morning dew. A desiccated, pitiful, dusty morsel of qi that seemed as though it might blow away if he sneezed too hard.
"No."
Jin So-Han grabbed his hair.
"No, no, no! This doesn't make sense! Even if I was injured, how could I degenerate this much?"
Bang!
At that moment, the flimsy wooden door of the shack was kicked open.
"Jin So-Han! You lazy brat!"
A young man wearing a faded uniform stood in the doorway, his face red with irritation. He looked about twenty years old, holding a wooden broom like a weapon.
Jin So-Han stared at him blankly.
'Who is this peasant?'
"You're still not dressed? The morning assembly started half an incense stick ago! Do you want Elder Mu to skin you alive?"
The young man stomped over and grabbed Jin So-Han by the collar.
Jin So-Han's eyebrows twitched.
'Grabbed?'
In the Golden Era, if someone tried to grab his collar, their hand would have been severed before they even finished the thought. But this peasant just... grabbed him?
"Let go."
Jin So-Han spoke with a low, menacing growl. The kind of voice that used to make sect leaders wet their pants.
"If you value your wrist, remove it from my person immediately."
The young man paused. He looked at Jin So-Han with a confused expression.
"...Have you finally lost your mind?"
"I said let g—"
Smack!
A stinging pain exploded on the back of Jin So-Han's head.
"Ak!"
"Talk properly, you lunatic! 'Let go'? 'Person'? Are you roleplaying as a master now? Get up!"
Jin So-Han clutched his head, his eyes trembling with disbelief.
He was hit.
He, the Sword God. The one who stood at the apex of the martial world. Was smacked on the head by a nobody with a broom.
"Y-You..."
"Get out! Now!"
dragged out of the shack by his collar, Jin So-Han was thrown into the courtyard.
The bright sunlight blinded him for a moment. As his vision cleared, he saw them.
About twenty disciples were lined up in the dirt courtyard. They were holding wooden swords, swinging them with forms that were so sloppy, so full of openings, that Jin So-Han felt physical nausea just looking at them.
'What is that? A dance? Are they swatting flies?'
"Get in line, So-Han! This is your last warning!"
The man who dragged him out—Do-Won, the Senior Disciple—shoved a wooden sword into Jin So-Han's hands.
Jin So-Han looked at the sword. It was unbalanced. Splintered.
"Ha..."
He let out a dry laugh.
He looked around. The buildings were crumbling. The sign hanging over the main hall read [Iron Lotus Hall], but the gold paint had peeled off centuries ago.
"Hey. You."
Jin So-Han pointed at Do-Won with the wooden sword.
"What year is it?"
Do-Won blinked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "What?"
"The year! What year is the Imperial Calendar?"
"Imperial Calendar? What are you talking about? It's the 4th year of the Blue Dragon Era."
"Blue Dragon?"
Jin So-Han frowned. He had never heard of that era.
"What happened to the Crimson Phoenix Era? What about the Heavenly Demon Cult? Is the Northern Sea Ice Palace still at war with the Central Plains?"
Silence descended on the courtyard.
The disciples stopped swinging their swords. They looked at Jin So-Han as if he had grown a second head.
Do-Won walked up to him slowly and placed a hand on Jin So-Han's forehead.
"So-Han... you don't have a fever."
"Answer me!"
"The Crimson Phoenix Era?" Do-Won looked baffled. "That's... that's from the legends. That ended a thousand years ago."
"..."
Jin So-Han froze.
"...How long?"
"A thousand years. Are you sleepwalking? Did you hit your head on a rock?"
A thousand years.
The sword dropped from Jin So-Han's hand.
Clatter.
'A thousand... years?'
Everyone he knew was dead.
The rivals he swore to defeat. The beauties he promised to drink with. The enemies he vowed to crush.
Dust. All of them, dust.
"Pfft."
"Hahaha."
"Ahahahahaha!"
Jin So-Han threw his head back and laughed maniacally.
"A thousand years! I slept for a thousand years! And this is what I wake up to? This?!"
He kicked the dirt.
"Weaklings! You're all weaklings! Look at your stance! Your lower body is as unstable as a drunkard on ice! And you call this a sect?!"
"Hey! Jin So-Han!"
"And this body! Whose body is this?! Why is it so trash?! I can't even feel a thread of internal energy! How did this guy even survive to adulthood? Did he survive by breathing alone?!"
Jin So-Han grabbed his own cheeks and pulled them.
"Argh! It's so soft! It's humiliating!"
The disciples whispered among themselves.
"He's definitely crazy."
"Should we call a doctor?"
"No, just ignore him. He's always been weird, but today is extreme."
Do-Won sighed deeply, looking tired of life.
"Ignore him! Continue training! 500 vertical cuts! Begin!"
"Hup! Hup!"
The disciples went back to swinging their swords like dying fish.
Jin So-Han stood there, panting, his outburst finished. He looked at the sky. It was the same blue sky.
'Fine.'
He gritted his teeth.
'A thousand years. Everyone is gone. The Golden Era is over.'
He looked at the pathetic disciples of the Iron Lotus Hall.
'But I am here.'
The Sword God didn't die.
He picked up the wooden sword he had dropped. The weight was wrong. The balance was garbage.
But as his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the atmosphere around him shifted.
Do-Won, who had turned his back, felt a chill run down his spine. He whipped his head around.
Jin So-Han was just standing there, holding a toy sword. But for a split second, he looked like a giant looking down on a field of ants.
"Hey, Senior Brother."
Jin So-Han grinned. It wasn't the smile of the lazy, cowardly junior they knew. It was a predator's smile.
"This vertical cut you're teaching... it's wrong."
"What?"
"You're using your shoulder, not your waist. That's why you look like a chicken flapping its wings."
"You...!"
"Watch closely, you blind bats. I'll only show you once."
Jin So-Han raised the wooden sword.
His dantian was empty. His muscles were nonexistent.
But the understanding was there.
He stepped forward and swung.
Whoosh!
It was a simple vertical slash.
But the sound was different. It wasn't the dull thwack of wood cutting air. It was a sharp, piercing whistle that tore through the wind.
A perfect, straight line.
The disciples stopped. Do-Won's jaw dropped.
Jin So-Han lowered the sword and wiped his nose with his thumb.
"That," he sneered, pointing at the stunned group, "is a sword. What you were doing is gardening."
He tossed the sword aside and walked toward the dining hall.
"Now, where is the food? This body is screaming for meat. And bring me alcohol! The strong stuff!"
"...Uh?"
"Alcohol! Are you deaf?! I need a drink to mourn the death of common sense in this era!"
The legend of the Iron Lotus Hall's crazy disciple had begun.